


Naragfahnzunshûn

by raiyana



Series: The Dwelf series [33]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Backstory, Dori frets, Gen, Life of Nori, M/M, Nori is a Little Shit, Other, Pre-Hobbit quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-09-25 00:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9793928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: Some might question the friendship – hidden as it was – between Nori and Dwalin, but it had been going strong for nigh a century amid rooftop chases and bar brawls. Each had plenty of stories about daring raids and near-escapes, about plots averted and lives saved... but this is not one of those stories.This is the story of how it began, in a dingy building in Thorinuldûm, on a dark and rainy evening, when Dwalin should have been safe and sound at home, enjoying his hot supper...





	

 

…

Dwalin sighed. His night had already been long; he had gotten off work early for once, but then he’d got himself involved in stopping a tavern brawl and here he was, staring at a young Dwarf who’d been arrested in connection with the fight. Fiddling with the papers on his desk – his promotion wasn’t official yet, but everyone already knew he’d be named Shumrozbid[1] within a week – Dwalin wished that Balin had sat in his place, or perhaps Dís. The both of them would have been better at speaking to the youngster; Dwalin’s interactions with Dwarrow his age were usually limited to shouting instructions in the training fields. The youth did not look cowed to find himself in front of the next Captain of the Guard – the old Captain had died three weeks before from falling down an unsteady mineshaft – affecting an air of disregard for the power of Dwalin’s office. The Azanulbizar veteran had to hide a smile; the young dwarf in front of him played at being unintimidated better than most of his cohorts, but Dwalin was not fooled by his blasé attitude. The young dwarf had been brought before him on charges of theft and brawling in the poorer areas of their settlement. Usually, that wouldn’t be enough to land him an audience with Dwalin, but this was a special case. Dwalin just hoped there would still be supper left when he finally made it home.

“Your name, Thief?” he rumbled, quiet but with just the right level of menace to make a criminal sit up and pay attention. Dwalin Fundinul had long had a reputation for being hard, but fair, and he was unafraid to take advantage of that, especially with young criminals.

“Nori.” The thief spat. Dwalin simply looked at him, expecting that a father-name would not come. He was not surprised.

“Your family, Nori?” he tried to gauge the thief’s age. There was no question of his guilt, but Dwalin was less interested in the theft than he appeared to the uninformed eyes of young Nori. Even if he had been he still would have been inclined to show some mercy due to Nori’s age, and the obvious hunger in his eyes.

Dwalin knew that the young dwarf in front of him had mouths to feed at home; the way he was anxiously trying to stop himself from looking at the door told Dwalin clearly that he had somewhere – or more likely _someone_ – to call him home. Dwalin knew both where and whom, though the little thief had no inkling of that small fact.

“Haven’t got one.” Defiance coloured every word, but Dwalin had danced this dance before. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel pleased that the old Captain was dead; it meant he had far more control over what happened next than he would have had if he had been reporting to a direct superior who was not privy to Thorin’s plans. Perhaps he would look into changing the way things worked in general, he thought, letting the thief sit in silence as he pretended to study him, Dwalin’s mind busy structuring a proposal to discuss with Thorin later. He knew Thorin would listen; his Kurdel had often lamented the lack of Thjofr’s progress when it came to making their people safe in the new settlement.

“How old are you?”

“80.” Came the insolent reply – another lie, Dwalin already knew. If the dwarf before him was a day over 70, he’d eat Thorin’s cooking.

“You’re lying to me, Nori,” Dwalin said, softly, watching the thief’s hackles rise, though he gave a credible attempt at nonchalance. Dwalin was a little impressed that Nori had not resorted to insults or shouting yet; most criminals in his experience would have attempted more than simple lies by now. “You do have a family. I think they’re waiting for you, possibly to bring them the food you stole. Probably frantic with worry that you have not come home.” Dwalin noticed the slight wince Nori couldn’t hide at that, but, overall, he was impressed by the young dwarf’s self-control. It boded well for his future plans. “I know that you were simply caught up in the brawl in Carnelian Street,” Dwalin continued pleasantly, as though they were old friends chatting and not a guard and a thief who were by any definition on opposing sides of the room, “and what you have stolen – or rather, what was discovered on your person as stolen goods – would not normally be enough to bring you to my attention.” Nori glanced at the doorway, but he didn’t attempt to flee – yet. “Can you tell me, then, why you think you are standing here?” Dwalin kept his words mild on purpose, channelling Balin at his most pleasantly interrogative. It was a skill he had never quite mastered as well as his brother, who could make anyone spill anything without noticing, but he usually got the answers he sought. It helped that he already knew the answers to his questions, but Nori did not need to know that…yet.

“Dunno, do I?” Nori retorted sullenly. “Yer some sort of nob, I see that.” His eyes once more shifted towards the door, and Dwalin began to realise what Nori might believe was the inevitable outcome of tonight if he wanted to remain free. He mastered his shudder of revulsion; he knew it happened in the Guard, but not with him, and if he had anything to say about it the practice would quietly disappear into the shadows of oblivion where such bargains belonged. He almost wanted to ask if such proposals had been sent Nori’s way before, but that was hardly a good ice-breaker. Dwalin sighed.

“Will you tell me your full name, Nori?” he asked instead, a thread of steel entering his voice. “I do not want to cause them troubles, but… I can’t let you go without someone taking responsibility for you, because of your age.” he let his voice trail off. It was often more effective to only imply threats; his size usually had enough ideas pop into people’s minds that he didn’t need to add more.

“Nori, son of Arnóra.” Dwalin kept his face impassive. He had been given an amad-name, which usually meant there was no sire. Again he simply nodded, having expected that.

“Son of Arnóra.” Dwalin wrote it down on the night’s arrest record. “You know, I do know a son of Arnóra. Dori the lace-maker on Granite Way. A good tailor, by all accounts. Your brother?” The thief tried not to give him any reaction, but Dwalin was shrewd and observant enough to notice the way his eyes widened just a little. Dwalin stood, sorting his papers properly and picking up Nori’s arrest record. He slung a bag over his shoulder and walked to the thief’s side. “Come on then, Nori, son of Arnóra. I’ll take you home to your brother.” He opened the door. The thief stared. Dwalin let his heavy hand fall onto the slender dwarf’s shoulder, nudging him forwards and out of the door, nodding at the grizzled old guad who’d been standing by in case Nori tried to run, and guiding him all the way out of the guardhouse.

“Why.” The question was more of a command and did not come until they were already turning onto Granite Way. Dwalin’s hand was still on the thief’s shoulder, a constant pressure, but not so firm it hurt. Dwalin knew the thief could probably have wrenched himself free, but he had stayed, docilely, and it gave the big warrior hope.

“Because you are hungry, and your brother is worried, Nori. And because I can.” Dwalin stopped before a red door, knocking heavily on the wood. The paint was starting to flake, but the front stoop was swept tidily. The inhabitants might not have much, but they did have house-pride, Dwalin noted, smiling to himself. The door was opened. The Dwarf inside paled at the sight that met him. Dwalin bowed his head politely. “Dwalin Fundinul, Shumrozbid, at your service. Master Dori, I presume?” Nori paled slightly at the revelation of Dwalin’s rank. The other dwarf nodded. Then his eyes landed on Nori and narrowed.

“Nori! What have you done now?!” he kept glancing between his younger brother and the giant guardsman who towered over them both. Nori’s face was set in defiant lines, but he stayed quiet.

“May we trespass on your hospitality, Master Dori? I would like to speak with you.” Dwalin asked, as calmly as though he were simply enquiring about the time of day. The mithril-haired dwarf took a step back, nodding permission. A small dwarfling peered out from the kitchen, lighting up in a giant smile when he saw the thief.

“Nori!” he shrieked, launching himself at the red-haired thief, who caught him easily and rubbed their noses together. Dwalin surreptitiously let go of Nori’s shoulder, stepping back slightly to avoid scaring the dwarfling. He liked little ones, but he knew that he could be intimidating. Beside him, Dori waved towards a small table, sighing in defeat, and Dwalin sat easily, ignoring the way the chair creaked beneath his weight, dropping his bag on the table. The thief sent the dwarfling back to the other room when his brother grabbed his collar and made him sit down. Dori sat beside him, scowling at Nori before turning to Dwalin.

“What’s he done this time, then, to bring the attention of the Captain of the Guard here?” he asked. Nori opened his mouth to protest, but Dwalin forestalled him.

“Simply a bit of brawling, which unfortunately resulted in the death of a dwarf,” Dwalin held up his hand, stalling Dori’s angry tirade before it really got started. “Not that the brawl was Nori’s fault; in fact, we have reports that he was simply a bystander pulled into the fray. Unfortunately, his age meant the matter required my personal signature before he could be released. That is not the reason I am here, however.” This time, he looked directly at Nori, who seemed just as surprised at Dori. Perhaps he had expected Dwalin to mention the theft too, but Dwalin really didn’t care much about that part of the story. Of course, stealing was wrong, but his soft heart could not bear to see a dwarfling starve, and even if Nori no longer counted as a dwarfling, the little one in the next room could definitely use more food, and so could Master Dori, for that matter, even if he was still one of the most beautiful dwarrow Dwalin had ever seen. “I want to propose a trade, Master Nori, but as you are underage, you need your brother’s consent.” He looked at Dori, who seemed flabbergasted, but on the cusp of anger. Dori knew well how beautiful dwarrow of their house were considered, and although Nori was young, he was certainly pretty. Dwalin continued, before the unwarranted explosion of Dori’s temper could occur. “I have heard stories of you, Nori, and your skills. They call you Fleetfoot and Stickypaws in the seedier taverns of Ered Luin, but the guards have named you Sakdûnith[2]. You are rarely caught, and when you are, it is usually innocuous and they have to let you go. What I want to propose is this-” Dwalin took a deep breath and continued quietly, “I want you to be the King’s Third Eye – The Black Owl. The Black Feather lies unclaimed, and its last master put forth your name before his death – nearly two decades ago.” Nori blinked, but seemed incapable of speech, while Dori had gone stiff as a board. “I have watched you, Nori, son of Arnóra,” Dwalin continued, seeing the more careworn features of the last Owl superimposed on Nori’s face; the resemblance was uncanny for someone who knew the truth, “and I think he was right. You have the skills to walk into places no guardsman would find, to hear the whispers that would never reach my ears, and I believe you have the intelligence the job requires.” Dori seemed speechless, but Dwalin did not care, keeping his attention on Nori, who looked intrigued.

“You want me to spy.” The young dwarf said. Dwalin nodded; that was indeed the role Nori had been picked for.

“Yes. You may continue to use your thievery to your advantage, and I will ensure that any arrests made against you are dealt with efficiently.” Sometimes by simply ignoring them, other times by orchestrating escapes or alibis; it didn’t really matter how, as long as the trade-off was worth it. Nori was nodding slowly. “In return, you will inform myself, my brother Balin, or Lady Dís of anything that requires the attention of the King; anything that might be harmful to our people and our settlement here.” Dwalin finished, studying the auburn-haired dwarf’s pointy features and feeling again the sense of familiarity wash over him. “Do you understand what I’m offering?” he asked. The young thief nodded.

“Why?” he asked, looking confused. “Why me?”

“I believe you can help me keep our people safe. Thorin has long needed a new Black Owl.” Dwalin admitted, an involuntary scowl crossing his face. “The Dwarf who tried to claim it after the death of the last one was…less than suitable,” Dwalin knew his expression gave the two others plenty of fodder for imagining what precisely had happened to the disloyal Dwarf and didn’t elaborate. Dori had gone pale. In truth, the unfortunate dwarf had got himself absolutely plastered and bragged about his job, and was summarily fired, demoted to the lowest mining job the Royals could find. In the olden days, he would have been exiled, but Thorin’s Halls needed every available worker.

“What’s the reward?” Nori asked, but he did not seem convinced yet. Neither that the offer was genuine, nor that the task would be worth it. “And how can you offer me this job. We’ve never met before. You don’t know me.” Here, Dwalin looked at Dori, trying to apologise ahead of his next words, and the stiffening of the other dwarf’s shoulders told him that he knew what words were coming.

“I do know you, Nori, son of Natfári, son of Northrasir, son of Kilvari. Nori, nephew of Nauma and Norin, grandson of Lawmaker Rúnvidr.” Nori stiffened, gaping at Dwalin, who kept speaking calmly. “I told you the last Black Owl put your name forth for consideration more than twenty years ago. At the time, you were still a dwarfling, and you needed more training, but he was granted permission by Thorin to begin teaching you the skills you would need.” Dwalin took a deep breath, exchanging a glance with Dori, who nodded once, sharply. “The last Black Owl was Natfári, son of Northrasir, son of Kilvari. Your father, though he could not claim you or your amad.” Nori seemed stunned by this barrage of information, and Dwalin could only sympathise, aware that Arnóra had put out the rumour that her three pebbles were fathered by different Dwarrow; something Dwalin knew had to have hurt his old friend, even if he couldn’t let it show. “We have tried to keep an eye on all of you since your amad passed a letter that she was dying.”

“That’s why Lady Dís came into my shop three moons ago?” Dori asked, but not in a way that made Dwalin think he was offended. He nodded.

“The Princess came up with the simplest way to keep an eye on Natfári’s family, to try to provide for you as much as the crown could be seen to do without rousing suspicions that you were important to us. We did not know if Arnóra had told you about his work,” Dwalin sighed; sometimes, Natfári’s leftover paranoia from working for Thrór and then Thraín for so long, was a hindrance, rather than a blessing, “but Natfári himself asked us to keep you safe when he could not.” Dwalin looked at Nori once more. The younger dwarf was still pale, and his hand had migrated across the table to wrap itself tightly around Dori’s, knuckles standing out white against his skin.

“Amad swore me to secrecy. She put out the rumour that each of us had a different father, that mine died in Erebor, and the rumour was enough for people to play up our dissimilarities as proof,” Dori spoke hoarsely, as if a great burdened had just been lifted. “She told me never to tell anyone, not even my brothers.” Dori seemed lost, but Dwalin did not know how to make it better. “I have spent _every day_ , since Ori was born, _waiting_ for the day someone would know,” Dori groaned, “praying no one would guess… and you tell me you’ve known all along?” Dwalin sighed.

“We didn’t know _who_ ,” he said, “only how they would get in touch, through a series of dead drops and secret couriers.” Dwalin had not been the one to set that up; the groundwork had been laid even before Thraín’s expedition to Erebor, and he and Thorin had simply made a habit of checking the final drop-site on their semi-weekly walk around the settlement.

“Did he leave nothing behind for us?” Dori asked, making Dwalin wince slightly at the volume. Nori still looked like he thought it was a hoax, even with Dori corroborating Dwalin’s story. “Since Amad’s death, we have barely been able to make ends meet!” Suddenly, Dori was angry, and since he couldn’t take out his anger on the father he felt had abandoned them, he lashed out at Dwalin, instead. “And now you want to take away my baby brother, too!”

“No.” Dwalin kept calm. Dori deflated, sinking back into his chair, one shaking hand reaching for his cup of tea, which had long-since gone cold. “I want to give Nori a chance to become a member of our society in a way very few dwarrow could manage.” Dwalin looked at both brothers, conveying his absolute belief in his words. “Thorin will ensure that your family is taken care of in return. You may keep your shop, Master Dori,” he promised, giving the flustered tailor a small smile, “and Dís has been so happy with your work that other ladies of the court have been hounding her for the name of the maker. She will make it known that you are under her patronage.” Dís had already done so, after all, so Dwalin wasn’t making promises he couldn’t keep. “When the little one… Ori – is it? – is grown, we will find him an apprenticeship with the best Master for his Craft, whatever that may be.” They had provisions for such a thing already laid aside, coins gathered before Natfári’s untimely death. “The work of the Black Owl is not without danger, but the position is necessary and the rewards match the risk. Ori’s apprenticeship is already paid in full, simply awaiting his coming of age; your own, Master Dori, was paid by Thraín, and even if Nori does not accept the Black Feather, we will see him settled with a proper craft.” Nori looked a bit peeved at that, which made Dwalin smile to himself; clearly, the young dwarf was more interested in the offer than he let on. “Natfári,” Dwalin claimed, willing the two brothers to believe him, “for all his faults and secrecy, was a conscientious dwarf, and he did make provisions for you. He never told us your amad’s name nor how many dwarflings he had, but he did leave Nori’s name and address behind, tapping him as a possible successor. Your names were in a letter that was in your amad’s keeping. Before her death, Arnóra knew how to get in touch with us for anything she might need, and we would extend the same offer to you.” Tweaked a bit, to ensure that messages did not go so horribly awry as Arnóra’s last letter, Dwalin swore to himself. “Your father was one of the best dwarrow I have known, and I was proud to call him friend, just as Thorin was proud to call him friend. Whatever else you may think, believe that your parents – both your parents – loved you fiercely and did their best to protect you.” Dwalin sighed mentally. He was sure Balin would have been better for this, but when they received the letter from Natfári’s widow – more than a year after her death, due to an unfortunate mix-up – Dwalin had been the one to come up with the idea of telling the brothers the next time Nori was arrested. If it had not so fortuitously – for them – happened tonight, Dís would simply have continued keeping an eye on the three brothers through chatting with Dori when she shopped. After all, if Natfári’s second son did not have the skills his father had expected him to have, there would be no harm in keeping their dead friend’s secret. If Nori _did_ display the skills of his late sire, however, it was important to gain his support and begin training him as soon as possible.

“I’ll do it.” Nori said, smiling cheekily. “If the King asks me.” He smirked. Dori groaned, letting his head thump down onto the table. Dwalin grimaced in sympathy, but smiled at Nori.

“Fine. If we hurry, we’ll be home in time for dinner. Dís’ husband, Víli, is a fantastic cook, so it shouldn’t be too bad,” he shrugged, “though if Thorin has been near the kitchen, it may be a bit burnt. My Kurdel,” and this was a word that made them sit up and take notice, aware of the trust the revelation implied. Dwalin smirked to himself and continued blithely, “while a good leader and a Master Blacksmith, has no idea when it comes to cooking. He has managed to burn water,” he winked, pleased at Nori’s answering grin. Dori simply gaped, obviously unused to Royalty being discussed so freely by someone close to them, but Dwalin knew that it was important to show that they trusted Natfári’s sons to keep their secrets. “He’s also fairly dismal when it comes to directions aboveground,” Dwalin continued easily, smiling at an old memory. “In the stone, no problem, but I remember once arguing with him about the direction of West…at sunset.” As Dwalin rose, Nori’s grin had turned into a low chuckle, and Dori was sporting a slight smile he tried to hide. “Let’s go then.” Dwalin finished, pushing in his chair. “Master Dori, you’re welcome to join us, of course,” he nodded, turning towards the door. A small blue blur ran out of the kitchen, and Dwalin was staring down into the soulful brown eyes of wee Ori. The dwarfling reached up fearlessly, in the universal dwarfling way that means ‘pick me up, now!’ and Dwalin obeyed, easily swinging the little one onto one of his broad shoulders and steadying him with a large hand.

“Your bag, Master Dwalin.” Dori held out the sack Dwalin had dropped on the table. He shook his head, bouncing wee Ori with a chuckle. The little one was staring wide-eyed down at Nori, who grinned up at him, flicking his fingers in rapid Iglishmêk.

“Ach, no, that belongs to Nori. He was searched when he came to the guardhouse; I simply carried his belongings back for him.” Dwalin lied easily, enjoying the way Nori’s eyes grew when he did not mention the theft that had originally landed Nori in front of his desk.

Dwalin did not know it yet, but in that moment, a life-long friendship was born.

 

 

_That night, Thorin did ask, and Nori accepted his father’s legacy. When he was handed the small token of his job, the naragzunshfall **[3]** seemed heavy, as though it had been carved from something much weightier than black agate. The new naragfahnzunshûn **[4]** looked at his King, who did not have the Raven Crown of his forebears, but who had some sort of indefinable quality of leadership, and Nori swore his service to him. _

_Some might question the friendship – hidden as it was – between Nori and Dwalin, but it had been going strong for nigh a century amid rooftop chases and bar brawls. Not that Nori had never been arrested by Dwalin, for the Shamâr **[5]** did that gleefully and with great skill whenever opportunity arose, none more enthusiastically than their Captain, Dwalin Fundinul. Their different stations had no impact on the genuine fondness they held for each other, a fondness born of many hours working together as well as apart for the betterment of their people._

 

[1] Guard Captain. A compound made of Shumr (guard n.) and ozbid (art/capability of a leader)

[2] Young shadow-man

[3] Black feather

[4] Black Owl-man, literally black knowledge bird man.

[5] Guards

**Author's Note:**

> The title of the Spymaster, the Black Owl, comes from mythology, where Owls have had roles of spies. It also seemed a nice tie-in with the name the Raven King, which is one of the titles of the King of Erebor, who wears the Raven Crown.
> 
> The carving Nori is given is made from this stone  
> [Black agate](http://www.gemstonebuzz.com/files/meaning/black-and-white-agate.jpg)


End file.
